


Tsunami

by AstraPerAspera



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-16
Updated: 2011-11-16
Packaged: 2017-10-26 03:58:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,686
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/278438
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AstraPerAspera/pseuds/AstraPerAspera
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Images and voices poured over her, flooding Amy with memories, as if the flood gates in her mind had opened and were sweeping her away. Spoilers for The Wedding of River Song</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tsunami

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [The Centurion's Daughter](https://archiveofourown.org/works/261590) by [JenniferJF](https://archiveofourown.org/users/JenniferJF/pseuds/JenniferJF). 



One drop. A single drop. That’s all it was. She wouldn’t even have noticed it but for the sensation of movement as it rolled across the back of her hand, stretching itself to nearly nothing before it ever reached the table. She stared at the small damp trail it had left, trying to grasp its meaning when a cold irrational panic gripped her and without really knowing why, she looked up, frantically, at the ceiling.

It was completely dry.

Of course it was dry. Why wouldn’t it be dry. The day was already sun-drenched, pouring cheery light into the lounge through the windows overlooking the street. And yet…

Why was her heart racing like she’d just climbed a hundred steps at a run?

Maybe it was the coffee. She didn’t drink it often in the morning. But then she hadn’t slept well the night before. She’d had the dream again. Or nightmare, more precisely. The lake. The astronaut. Herself screaming—fighting to get to him. Arms holding her back until they too slipped away in disbelief and horror. And the fire. Flames on the lake reducing his body to ashes, as if he’d never been.

If only it had been a nightmare. But it was a memory. As vivid in her dreams as the day it happened. So real she could nearly feel the sand sticking to her bare legs and smell the brackish water.

Even now, all she had to do was close her eyes and she could see everything. The Doctor on the shore. The discharge of a weapon. His body flung back like some ridiculous rag doll….

She looked down at her hand again, still wrapped around the steaming mug of coffee, and another drop fell. Then a third. And suddenly understanding what they were, she swiftly pulled her hand under the table to wipe it dry across her jeans before he could see.

Too late.

“Amy…?”

She glanced up and saw him watching her from over his bowl of porridge, his brow furrowed in typical Rory concern.

“You’re crying,” he observed, worry in his tone.

“Yeah…I know. Thanks,” she snapped, probably more sharply than she should have.

He looked like he was about to say more, but wisely reconsidered and remained silent. His eyes never left her, though, and so she stared down at her own plate of toast, doing her best to avoid his gaze.

Another tear fell.

Fine.

She looked up and met his waiting eyes.

“Why am I crying?” she asked, already dreading the answer. Something was wrong. Something was horribly, terribly wrong. She could feel it now. Her head seemed suddenly incapable of holding everything it was supposed to hold. Like a balloon, inflated to the point of bursting. Maybe she was having a stroke.

“Because you’re sad,” he told her. It wasn’t a guess this time; it was an answer. He knew. And suddenly she could see it in his eyes too. The same, pressing sorrow that was making the tears come now not in drops, but streaming down her face.

The balloon burst.

And suddenly it was there. All of it. Everything. The train and the pyramid and the clocks that never moved. The Doctor in handcuffs. River, her daughter, in tears.

And Madame Kovarian.

“Oh god…,” she gasped. “Rory….”

She couldn’t breathe. The room was suddenly devoid of air. And someone had reached into her chest with a giant fist and torn her heart from her, leaving a jagged, aching wound in its place. Images and voices poured over her, flooding her with memories, as if the flood gates in her mind had opened and were sweeping her away down some swift and churning current, pulling her under again and again, crushing her with wave upon wave of grief and regret.

Then he was there. Holding her to him as her body shuddered with sobs. She could feel him sobbing too, pressed against his chest, his arms tightening around her as they both wept and held one another.

How long they clung to each other, she did not know. Time had lost all meaning for her. What had once seemed such a simple concept no longer made any sense. Nothing made sense. Except it did.

“I’m not crazy then…,” she asked finally, pulling back from his embrace to look into his face. “You remember it too….”

“Yeah,” his voice was subdued. Old, like she rarely heard it, except when he was remembering that other life. So maybe this was what it was like. To have a whole different time in you head. Something you’d lived…but yet hadn’t, crowded in there with everything else you thought you knew to be true. But maybe wasn’t.

“I don’t like this, Rory…I don’t want this….” She squeezed the heels of her hands against her temples, as if she could make the images go away. But they remained stubbornly in place, as real and true as every other memory she had. Rory’s look was sympathetic as he gently pulled her hands down and clasped them between his own.

“Shhh. Amy…I know. Believe me. But it’s done. And we can’t undo it. And we can’t forget it either, no matter how much we wish we could.”

She looked up into his face and felt her eyes burning again. His were red-rimmed as well.

“He’s dead, Rory. All that time we thought he had…it’s used up. He’s truly dead now, isn’t he.” It wasn’t really a question. She already knew. “And River…our River…that was her. On the shore that day by the lake.”

“Yeah….” His voice was strange and tight.

“And all that other stuff I can remember…the tomb…the eye patches….”

“They weren’t eye patches, they were….”

“Shut up…I know what they were,” she hissed sharply. As if she could ever forget them. Or what they could do. Or what she had done with them.

And…oh god!...if she knew, then Rory knew. Terrified, she searched his face for some reflection of the loathing she felt for herself, but she found only compassion in his eyes. Somewhere the heart that had been ripped from her chest started to beat again.

“I thought we could save him…,” she said, finally. Dully. “I thought….” But she didn’t know what she thought any more. The Doctor was dead and she was a murderer, and it didn’t matter when any of it happened; it had happened. There was no going back.

“You heard him, Amy. No one could save him. Not us. Not even River. He knew that. He accepted it. I don’t pretend to understand half of it—but it had to happen. That much I do know. And so did he.”

She wiped her nose with the back of her hand.

“So he saved us. Again. The stupid bloody idiot.”

“Yeah. Us…and the whole of time and space.”

“Only he’s not coming back this time, is he,” she whispered, smiling bitterly. “He’s not coming back no matter how much I remember him.”

Rory closed his eyes and sighed before opening them to gaze sadly at her. When he did she could see that old look about him again. The look of a man who’d lived more lifetimes than anyone should ever have to. A man who knew that not every story had a happy ending.

“I don’t think so, Amy. And I’m sorry.”

She nodded because no more words would come and, leaning into Rory’s waiting arms, wept until there were no tears left.

 

* * * *

It was chilly out. Rory’s old jacket wasn’t enough, so she’d pulled a nearby wrap off the couch and draped it over her shoulder while she waited. The wine warmed her some, but there was another chill, deep inside her, that no blanket or drink could begin to touch. Grief, like a winter freeze, had left her brittle and raw. Even the twinkling lights that she and Rory had strung in the garden for evenings such as this meant nothing now and she wondered if she would ever feel anything but this hollow emptiness again.

It didn’t surprise her that River would come tonight. Her visits had become frequent enough since they’d lived here. Granted, there was a certain off-balance quality to not knowing which version of her daughter would show up each time. Which was why she’d bought a diary of her own. Looking at it now she realized what a pathetic little book it was, meant simply to mark the passage of time, not keep record of grand adventures across the universe. She shook her head. If she’d ever had any hopes that those days might not be truly behind her, today had certainly dashed them.

But it really wasn’t the grand adventure that she missed. It was the man. Her friend. Her best friend. Whom she loved—had loved—in ways that even she hadn’t understood. Just thinking he was out there…somewhere…some time…had been a comfort. But now, the universe seemed a bit darker and the future a bit dimmer, knowing he was truly and finally gone.

She took another sip of wine and stared at the flickering stars overhead. River would be here any minute. She couldn’t begin to guess how her daughter knew how desperately she needed her company tonight…and with almost equal desperation did not want it. In River’s world the Doctor was never dead, only moving backward through time. Wounds healed poorly when constantly reopened. It would take a long time, she suspected, before River’s visits didn’t bring equal parts of joy and sorrow.

Tonight, though, would be the most difficult.

Seconds later, when the telltale sound and flash of the Vortex Manipulator told her she was no longer alone, Amy swallowed hard. And with her eyes fixed firmly on the heavens above to steady her, she did her best to welcome her daughter home.

 

* * * *

His girls.

He’d never thought of them that way, but watching them from the window as he went to fetch another bottle of wine, he couldn’t help it. They were talking animatedly out in the garden, trills of laughter drifting in on the cool evening air. Amy, free and happy as he hadn’t seen her in months, gesturing broadly as she described something insanely ridiculous the Doctor had done on their trip to Space Florida. Across the table, River had tears of laughter streaming down her face.

Mother and daughter. Best friends.

Rory’s heart swelled.

He sensed his presence, more than felt it, so he wasn’t the least bit startled to find him standing there in the kitchen when he turned around. For just a moment his eyes looked past Rory, out the same window at the very same scene, a faint, contented smile resting on his face. Then, as his gaze shifted to meet Rory’s, the smile widened into a mischievous grin as he put a finger to his lips and mouthed “Shhhh”.

A hundred questions exploded in Rory’s brain all at once, but then drifted away like smoke. He knew he’d never get the answer to half of them anyway. And the other half probably didn’t matter. He’d seen proof enough out that window that whatever he might have wondered about or worried over, River was fine. And she always had been. In retrospect, so much of it now became clear. The only sadness he could hold onto was that it had taken him this long to fully understand.

Standing in front of him, the Doctor’s expression had become sympathetic. The man had always been able to see right through him. But it didn’t seem so much of an invasion, now. Not after everything that had happened.

The Doctor stretched out his arm and the conspiratorial look was back. In his hand was a wine bottle…a very old and familiar looking wine bottle, irregular in shape and half-covered with dirt. Blowing off the dust from the label as he took it, Rory could faintly make out “Grand Constance” and the year “1820”. A wax seal on the cork bore the imprint “NB”. He looked up with confusion.

The Doctor shrugged. “He threw two, actually. Lousy aim. But that’s the French for you.”

And because there really was no reply to that, Rory merely said: “Come on, then. I’ll get an extra glass.”

The Doctor, however, shook his head, his eyes drifting out the window to the garden again. “Best not,” he said, a bit somberly. “Wouldn’t want to interrupt.” His gaze darted apologetically back to Rory.

“She’ll know you’re here. We don’t exactly keep Napoleon’s private stock on hand, as a rule,” he felt compelled to point out. There was no way he dared bring out that particular wine bottle and not the man who’d brought it. Not after everything that had happened today.

“Right,” replied the Doctor, his brow furrowing. He abruptly snatched the bottle back from Rory’s hand. “Let’s save it for another occasion, then, why don’t we?” He cleared his throat. “You know…on second thought, maybe this wasn’t such a good idea. Maybe I ought to just…,” he jerked his thumb toward the lounge behind him. Rory wasn’t sure but that he didn’t detect a familiar boxy shadow looming around the corner.

“So you’re just going to keep on running?” He hadn’t meant for it to come across as accusatory, but somehow it did. And it stopped the retreating Doctor dead in his tracks.

“Rory…I shouldn’t even be here. You weren’t meant to know. I thought it would be easier that way. Safer.”

“Yeah,” he scoffed. “Right.” He could still feel Amy’s limp, sob-wracked body in his arms from that morning. Easier. Sure. “So why bother showing up at all, then?” he demanded, trying to not show his irritation, but failing.

The Doctor studied him for a long moment before a thin, wistful smile finally ghosted across his face. “Because,” he said simply. “You’re family.”

Rory’s anger died in his throat. This, for once, wasn’t a glib response or a clever dodge. And it struck Rory just what those words meant to the man standing in front of him--the last Time Lord of Gallifrey.

Hope.

And this he understood. Completely. Because, in a strange way, it had been the same for him. This deep down longing for connection. For family. And how ironic was it that the same child…the same woman…should fulfill those nearly abandoned dreams for both of them.

For a moment the air hung silent, and Rory met the Doctor’s gaze, look for look. A kind of understanding passed between them. It was, he later realized, the most honest conversation with the Doctor he’d never had; and when it was over he knew that something between them had fundamentally changed.

Finally Rory nodded. “Then come on,” he insisted, sincerely. Warmly. “Join us--they’ll both be keen to see you.”

The man in front of him preened slightly—some things would never change—but then shook his head.

“I don’t think so, Rory. Not tonight. They’re doing just fine without me—“ He winked. “—for now.” Spinning with a familiar flourish, his hands gripping his lapels, he strode towards the unseen blue box in the other room. “But I’ll be back,” he pronounced, pausing to turn back around to face Rory. “Soon. Very soon—I promise.”

At least he got it, now. The Doctor wasn’t running away from them. He was running towards them. The only way he knew how.

The man had almost vanished around the corner when Rory called out to him. “You’d better, you know,” he warned, doing his best to infuse two-thousand years into his tone. He’d need to work on this whole “Father” thing a bit more.

The Doctor smiled…really smiled…this time, and with a half-salute, disappeared from sight.

A slight vibration in the floor was all that marked the TARDIS’ silent departure; and by the time it faded away, Rory had already selected a new bottle of wine and returned to the garden to join a celebration he knew had only just begun.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks, as always, to jenniferjf. With her permission, consider this a prelude to Chapter One of The Centurion's Daughter


End file.
